Part 6 (1/2)
I reminded myself to read up on the Duke's cases. Evidently he was better known than I had realized. Sometimes a man gets too wrapped up in his own work.
”I'm sorry,” Stevie said, ”but I've got to get going. I hope to see you again, Your Grace. So long, Dad--and thanks.”
”So long, son,” I said. ”Take it easy.”
His car moved off down the street, gathering speed.
”Fine boy you have there,” the Duke said.
”Thanks. Shall we go on with our pub crawling?”
”Let's.”
By two o'clock in the morning, we had heard nothing, found nothing.
The Duke looked tired, and I knew that I was.
”A few hours sleep wouldn't hurt either one of us,” I told His Grace.
”It's a cinch that Nestor won't be able to find any little girls at this hour of the morning, and I have a feeling that he probably bought himself a bottle and took it up to his room with him.”
”You're probably right,” the Duke said wearily.
”Look,” I said, ”there's no point in your going all the way down to your hotel. My place is just across town, I have plenty of room, it will be no trouble to put you up, and we'll be ready to go in the morning. O.K.?”
He grinned. ”Worded that way, the invitation is far too forceful to resist. I'm sold. I accept.”
By that time, we had left several dollars worth of untasted beers sitting around in various bars on the West Side, so when I arrived at my apartment on the East Side, I decided that it was time for two tired cops to have a decent drink. The Duke relaxed on the couch while I mixed a couple of Scotch-and-waters. He lit a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke with a sigh.
”Here, this will put sparks in your blood. Just a second, and I'll get you an ash tray.” I went into the kitchen and got one of the ash trays from the top shelf and brought it back into the living room. Just as I put it down on the arm of the couch next to His Grace, the buzzer announced that there was someone at the front door downstairs.
I went over to the peeper screen and turned it on. The face was big-jawed and hard-mouthed, and there was scar tissue in the eyebrows and on the cheeks. He looked tough, but he also looked worried and frightened.
I could see him, but he couldn't see me, so I said: ”What's the trouble, Joey?”
A look of relief came over his face. ”Can I see ya, Inspector? I saw your light was on. It's important.” He glanced to his right, toward the doorway. ”Real important.”
”What's it all about, Joey?”
”Take a look out your window, Inspector. Across the street. They're friends of Freddy Velasquez. They been following me ever since I got off work.”
”Just a second,” I said. I went over to the window that overlooks the street and looked down. There were two men there, all right, looking innocently into a delicatessen window. But I knew that Joey Partridge wasn't kidding, and that he knew who the men were. I went back to the peeper screen just as Joey buzzed my signal again. ”I buzzed again so they won't know you're home,” he said before I could ask any questions. ”Freddy must've found out about my hands, Inspector.
According to the word I got, they ain't carrying guns--just blackjacks and knucks.”
”O.K., Joey. Come on up, and I'll call a squad car to take you home.”
He gave me a bitter grin. ”And have 'em coming after me again and again until they catch me? No, thanks, Inspector. In one minute, I'm going to walk across and ask 'em what they're following me for.”
”You can't do that, Joey!”
He looked hurt. ”Inspector, since when it is against the law to ask a couple of guys how come they're following you? I just thought I oughta tell ya, that's all. So long.”